


talk or don't talk, be my world

by drarryangels



Series: Drarry One-Shots [21]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Smut, Smut, Sweet, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24735547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryangels/pseuds/drarryangels
Summary: Draco talks, Harry doesn't. But not now, not like this.Draco can’t talk. He usually does, all the time. But not now, not with this.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarry One-Shots [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672888
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	talk or don't talk, be my world

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes I think this is the smuttiest thing I've ever written. I don't really read or write smut, so take this for what it is :)

Things. Things Draco focuses on. 

His breath huffing out, blowing tufts of Harry’s hair back in loose gusts. His hips pushing up to meet Harry’s. His stomach rising to press into Harry’s. His collarbone shifting under Harry’s mouth when he sighs. His shoulders falling away from his ears. 

Harry, Harry, Harry. 

They roll. 

Night air blows over the back of Draco’s neck, coming in through the window of Draco’s apartment. Harry’s hands come up, and then the cool of the night is replaced with the warm cradle of Harry’s palms. 

They are both fully, mostly, dressed. But every one of Draco’s nerves is alight where Harry’s body leans up into him, everywhere Harry grips tighter onto his hair, his arms, the folds of his clothes. 

“Draco,” Harry exhales, into the collar of Draco’s shirt. 

“Hm?”

Draco can’t talk. He usually does, all the time. But not now, not with this. 

Harry knows it. He laughs because every second of Draco’s life has been spent talking. His mouth goes on, his hands swirl in emphasis, the words never cease. Draco is self conscious about it, even though he can’t stop. Harry adores it, listening to Draco with his hand settled over Draco’s knee and no obligation to do anything but listen. 

Draco talks when they hug, talks when they hold hands, when they’re wrapped together on the couch with a book in Draco’s hands and the telly on in the corner. Draco talks while he reads, cooks, knits, kisses, listens to the radio.

But not now. 

Not when Harry’s hands are on him, all over him. Then he’s completely quiet except for the heavy pattern of his breath. 

Harry likes this as much as he likes Draco’s chatter. He likes knowing that Draco is quiet because of _him_ , likes being the only one who can pull Draco’s attention away from all the babble in his mind, and likes being the only person who sees Draco like this. At rest. 

Of course, he does not say this to Draco. 

“Harry,” Draco says, his voice untethered and hushed. 

“Yeah?”

“You said my-” Draco gasps and moves his hands to Harry’s hips. “-my name.”

“Did I?”

“Mm.”

Harry abandons the hollow of Draco’s throat, and brings his face up to Draco’s. 

“Hi there.” Harry grins, and puts his mouth to Draco’s. 

Draco says nothing. 

“Beautiful,” Harry mumbles into Draco’s mouth, and runs a hand through his hair. “So beautiful. Love you _so much_.”

Draco pulls him tighter. His hands touch under the hem of Harry’s shirt. 

They roll again. 

Harry sits up, drawing Draco’s mouth up with him before coming apart. Harry lifts his arms into the air and smiles down at Draco sprawled back on the pillows. 

Draco sits halfway up to reach Harry and wastes no time in pulling Harry’s shirt over his head and tossing it to the side. The buckle of his belt comes next, then the button of his trousers. 

Harry laughs and lets his weight merge into Draco’s. “There’s no rush, love.”

Draco pushes his nose into the side of Harry’s neck and pulls the belt out of Harry’s belt loops. He tucks his fingers under Harry’s waistband, and Harry lifts his arms to circle around Draco’s neck and shoves his hands into Draco’s hair. 

At some point, they fall backwards onto the the bed. The rest of their clothes are removed.

Draco rolls over Harry and settles between Harry’s legs. Draco pushes in close, as close as he can, and Harry’s knees fall open. 

Harry winds his arms around Draco, one hand tangled up in Draco’s hair, the other pressed into Draco’s spine. Harry runs his fingers over the ridges of bone and lets Draco move them together. 

Draco pulls away for a split second, and Harry says, “You’re wonderful.” His voice is hoarse, at a loss for the wonder that is Draco Malfoy. 

Draco groans and fists his hands into the sheets.

Harry grabs Draco’s wrists. “Hold onto me,” he whispers. 

Draco’s hands find their way to Harry’s face. Then he does hold onto him, his fingers gentle as they press over Harry’s cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his bottom lip, the soft skin under his jaw. 

Harry’s knees drop open wider, and Draco slides down his body to press his lips into the skin over Harry’s hips, between his thighs, under his knee, the top of his shin. He moves back up and his mouth finds Harry’s, bumbling and gasping and letting out a stream of words Draco can’t make out. 

If someone were to ask Draco, he would say that Harry is quiet. He doesn’t speak when he reads, cooks, pretends to knit, kisses, watches the telly. He watches and he listens and he lets Draco do the talking. 

But not now, not like this. Not when Draco’s hands are on him, all over him. Then he talks without letting out a breath, filling up the spaces Draco has left empty. 

“Harry?”

Harry nods. His eyes are glassy, full, turned up toward Draco. He’s breathing, over and over again, “I love you, I love you.”

“I love you,” Draco says over the torrent of Harry’s voice. 

Draco holds on tight, and Harry holds on tight, words still tumbling out of his mouth, and the world blows itself out into something not quite tangible. 


End file.
